


Slowing down

by WoodsWitch



Series: Flights of Fancy [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's garden, Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, Massage, Masturbation, Metaphysical Sex, Sharing a Bed, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25908739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodsWitch/pseuds/WoodsWitch
Summary: Flights of Fancy, part 3:"You know, I did always wish I could get you to slow down..."Crowley snorted. "No,. Tell me about it.""Slowing down isn't the same thing asstopping, dear. But what I wasgoing,  to say was: slow down and savor things more. To just relax and enjoy the moment. Just like this..." He stroked a hand over Crowley's hair and down his back.... "I always wanted to see more of that, more of you just...happy, and enjoying things. Allowing yourself pleasure."The demon rolled onto his stomach, and looked up at him cheekily. "Is this a segue into another smutty fantasy of yours, Angel?"(Yes, yes it is. Kind of. There are three possible endings. Note that really only a couple of paragraphs that technically earn the 'M' rating)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Flights of Fancy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867303
Kudos: 11





	Slowing down

The sun streamed in through the window as Aziraphale finished the last page of 'The Decameron'. He set the book on the bedside table and stretched, blinking as the golden light illuminated the tall black bookcases (three-quarters filled with volumes so old it was literally a miracle they hadn't disintegrated, one quarter with a mixture of spy novels, astronomy textbooks, and computer manuals), the brocaded loveseat tucked under a sketch that would have any art dealer hyperventilating at a mere glimpse of it...and the demon who lay curled up beside him, head resting on the angel's thigh, arm lightly curled around his leg.

 _What did I ever do to deserve this?_ Aziraphale wondered, stroking Crowley's copper curls lightly. If awake, Crowley would have protested any such thought loudly, insisting that if either of them had reason to wonder about _deserving_ it was clearly him. But when it came to treatment of his former adversary Aziraphale knew his sins, and fully intended to spend the next several thousand years making up for them.

The demon's hair was longer now than it had been immediately post-Apocawhoops, a little past chin-length. Crowley had mostly let it grow out the human way, though Aziraphale suspected he had used a small demonic miracle to hurry it past the point when it would have flopped awkwardly into his eyes. The angel also guessed that this change was largely for his benefit. Then again, the demon did seem to enjoy Aziraphale playing with his hair almost as much as the angel liked doing it - so it was a win-win, really. Crowley shifted slightly and mumbled something incoherent but rather pleased-sounding into tartan flannel as he leaned into the angel's touch. The demon himself was, as usual, only wearing the bottom half of his silky black pajamas, and with all the twisting around he did in his sleep even those were threatening to slide off his angular hips. _Ridiculous serpent_ , Aziraphale thought fondly.

How had he ever imagined that Crowley wouldn't be a cuddler? The demon was a _snake_ , for heaven's sake - even when trading in scales for long pale limbs, draping himself over things and curling around them was second nature, especially if those things provided warmth, or a secure support. He wondered how touch-starved Crowley must have been, those seventy long centuries between his Fall and the apocalypse-that-wasn't. The angel was well aware of how sparing _he'd_ been back then with any sort of physical affection, and hugging another demon was probably a recipe for getting a talon stabbed in your back. As for humans...well, he was increasingly sure Crowley hadn't actually had 'plenty of other people to fraternize with', as he had once claimed. Technically, perhaps; Anyone with the charm to slither up to a complete stranger and talk them into breaking the only rule that existed would never have trouble _meeting_ people. Mutual trust, on the other hand - that was another matter.

Crowley stirred again, turned over, yawned. He blinked up at Aziraphale with wide amber eyes. "Hmm. Morning, Angel."

_Oh, my dear. Please, let me hear that every day for the next six thousand years._

The demon blinked at whatever he could see on Aziraphale's face. "What?"

Aziraphale beamed back at him. "You are really are a gorgeous thing, you know."

"And _you_ are ridiculously soppy in the mornings," Crowley snorted, though he sounded slightly smug.

 _Vain thing._ But, then again, the demon hadn't always truly believed himself to be loveable and beautiful, which was why Aziraphale made a point of saying so out loud now whenever he could.

The demon yawned and stretched, revealing unusually pointed teeth, and Aziraphale was briefly reminded of a nature documentary they'd watched recently. It had featured a pride of lions that seemed to do an inordinate amount of napping and generally lazing about in between bursts of activity.

"Hmm. I really should get up, but you do make a very comfortable pillow."

Aziraphale combed his fingers through the demon's silky hair. For all the sharp edges and jagged lines he had once manifested - and sometimes still did - Crowley was really very soft in places. His hair. His lips. His heart. "What do you need to get up for?"

"Well, I was going to work on that rooftop garden. But I suppose that can wait half an hour longer."

"I thought you were just going to miracle it up there. The basic infrastructure, at least."

Crowley scoffed. "I _am_ , but there are still engineering considerations, Angel. Where is the staircase going to come out? Do the load-bearing structures need to be reinforced to take the extra weight? Does the roof need more waterproofing to keep it from leaking on your books? One has to do these things properly."

The demon had been giving a lot more thought to this sort of thing ever since they'd been forced to do without miracles for nearly four months recently. Anything that runs purely on magic is apt to collapse rather catastrophically if the magic is removed.

"Do you know what you're going to plant yet?"

"I have a few ideas. Some grapevines round the edge railing..."

The angel brightened. "Our own vineyard?"

"It takes more than a few vines to get enough fruit for a batch of wine, Angel," Crowley pointed out. "More of a visual reference. Though there should be enough grapes for me to feed them to you in a properly decadent manner. Let's see. A bay tree, and some mint for mojitos. Maybe a dwarf apple tree, but I'll have to see if it could be placed somewhere where it won't interfere with the skylight. And...what is that look?"

"What look?"

"You've not only got that soppy smile back, you're _glowing_. Literally."

Aziraphale hummed to himself before replying: "I suppose I was thinking how lovely it is to see you so relaxed and happy."

A demonic eyebrow arched. "'m always relaxed. Cool as a cucumber."

"Draping yourself all over the furniture and affecting stylish indifference is _not_ the same thing as relaxed. _This_...I used to only get glimpses of this. A moment, here and there, with centuries in between sometimes. Regardless of posture, you were a jangling ball of nerves most of the time, when you weren't a drunken heap of misery, or pursuing some new scheme with manic enthusiasm."

Crowley pursed his lips and seemed to consider this for a while. "Hmm. Yeah, I guess feeling like you are constantly dancing on the edge of disaster will do that."

"And you don't feel like that now?"

"Nope. I mean...you never know what might happen, of course, but it doesn't feel like everything is likely to come crashing down any second anymore. The Apocalypse is off and, so far as we know, hasn't been rescheduled. We've given our head offices enough of a shake up that they probably will actually leave us alone this time, especially since _you've_ gotten not one but _two_ signs of favor from the Highest Authority. And we've got _us_ pretty well figured out. So...yeah."

 _And only the occasional hell-related nightmare or panic attack._ But Aziraphale didn't say it. Neither of them had forgotten, but the terrors were fading, after all. And right now...

"You know, I did always wish I could get you to slow down..." Aziraphale began.

Crowley snorted. " _No._ Tell me about it."

The angel gave him a look. "Slowing down isn't the same thing as _stopping_ , dear. But what I was _going_ to say was: slow down and savor things more. To just relax and enjoy the moment. Just like this..." He stroked a hand over Crowley's hair and down his back.

"Hmmm. Well, it's not like I _never_ relaxed properly," the demon protested, though without much vehemence. "Like...in the bookshop, sometimes. It felt...safe, here, I guess."

Aziraphale smiled. "I know. Why do you think you always had a standing invitation? I liked doing anything with you, but there was a better chance of you letting your guard down here. I always wanted to see more of that, more of you just...happy, and enjoying things. Allowing yourself pleasure."

The demon rolled onto his stomach, and looked up at him cheekily. "Is this a segue into another smutty fantasy of yours, Angel?"

Aziraphale turned a very fetching shade of pink.

Crowley's grin expanded. "Oh, I thought so! Spit it out, Angel."

"Now that you mention it, I do recall one...scenario. But it isn't necessarily...Hmm. I suppose you could say there are alternate endings."

"Ooh, this sounds promising."

Aziraphale smiled. "Well, now. I started thinking about it a century or two before I opened the bookshop. Back then, the only time you seemed to relax like this was...outside, suppose. Far away from people, in an orchard or a forest or something. Where there was work, and prying eyes, you were usually wound up like a spring. But then I got a notion of a way I might be able to help." 

~~~

Aziraphale knew the demon was there before he saw him, of course. He could always tell when Crowley was nearby, as if his ethereal senses had become particularly attuned to his long-term sort-of-adversary. Perhaps they had. But this time he nearly stumbled over him before he picked it up, as if the demon's energy was low, somehow.

Crowley was sitting in a corner of the tavern, hunched morosely over his drink. "Hey, Angel," he muttered, lifting his head slightly as Aziraphale approached.

"Hello, Crowley. It's been a long time."

The demon sighed. "Yeah."

"You didn't answer half my letters over the past thirty years."

"Sorry, Angel. Kept getting shuffled around with conflicting orders over half the blessed earth." Crowley made a face. " _And_ I got summoned five times, which was bloody annoying. Apparently there's been a resurgence in demonology as a hobby."

Crowley's somber mood seemed to be reflected even in his clothes. All right, _yes_ , he was _always_ mostly in black. But the last time Aziraphale had seen him he was swaggering along in a doublet with immense puffed sleeves, slashed to reveal scarlet silk beneath the black; a matching pair of red hose; and a frankly unnecessarily elaborate codpiece in between. His new outfit verged on the funereal, with only a hint of white lace at the edge of the high neck to enliven it.

The demon seemed to be studying the angel's outfit as well. "What in Satan's name are you _wearing_?"

Aziraphale followed his gaze to the garment made of panels of blue and white silk that ballooned out below his gold-braid-trimmed doublet. "Pansied slops. I'm told they're quite fashionable."

He expected the demon, who was wearing the trimmer, Venetian style of hose, to make some kind of a joke about that, but instead he just snorted. Despite his grumpiness, though, Crowley did seem pleased to see the angel, gesturing at a chair and pouring him a drink.

Fifteen minutes of terse replies and grunts followed. Aziraphale gathered that work had been more upsetting than usual, but Crowley didn't seem to want to talk about it. The angel sighed. It seemed it would take more than a cup of wine or two to ease the demon's stress and melancholy. But what could he do? He recalled that one time when _he'd_ been in such a state - distraught over the collapse of the peace deal he'd brokered between the bickering kingdoms of France and England - Crowley had suggested a new project of artistic inspiration that had brightened his mood immensely. That wouldn't do here, though. Due to The Arrangement demon had taken on far more "nice" jobs than was strictly safe already. And even if Aziraphale had felt right suggesting something more properly demonic...well, that might do more harm than good1.

"Perhaps you ought to get out of Europe for a bit," the angel suggested.

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. "Trying to get rid of me that quick, are you?"

"No, no, dear boy!" Aziraphale said hurriedly. "Of course not. I only meant that it might do you good to spend some time in sunnier climes. I know how the cold and damp gets to you."

"I've been there already," the demon said glumly. "Teotihuacan - or what's left of it. Hispaniola. Jamaica."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a bit. They'd made attempts, now and again, to influence these larger events. It was rarely entirely successful, and the events, the _patterns,_ just kept getting _bigger_ and harder to turn. Not that Aziraphale intended to stop trying to influence humans in key places - the prophets, the orators, the artists - to spread more compassionate ideas. And it was a fair bet that any slave traders stopping in while Crowley was in port had discovered, upon their return to Europe, that rats had chewed a hole in every barrel of rum and eaten every scrap of sugar in their holds.

"Well," Aziraphale said at last. "I was back in Japan recently. It was a bit more hectic than last time - lots of regional lords fighting each other. But there are these groups of farmers, merchants, priests, and even some nobility who have formed mutual defense groups around Buddhist monasteries to keep off the warring samurai. They call themselves _Ikko-Ikki_. They've had a decent amount of success, actually."

The demon's lip twitched up in what was almost a smile. "With your help?"

"Only a bit. Oh! I picked up some lovely tea while I was over there. I think it is a variety you would like. Why don't you come over this afternoon and sample it?"

Aziraphale poured hot water over a spoonful of bright green powder and whisked vigorously until the concoction was slightly foamy. Then he handed the tea bowl to the demon with a slight bow and a watched to see how he would react.

A forked tongue flickered over the surface of the liquid. "Hmm. Grassy." Crowley sipped the brew. "A little bitter. Sort of creamy." He took another sip. "Not bad."

Aziraphale smiled, and began whisking his own portion. "I'm glad you approve."

"What happened to your bowls, though?" Crowley was squinting at where a crack in his had been repaired with gold lacquer. "Did you drop this? Why not just miracle it back together?"

"They're supposed to be like that."

"Angel, the cracks aren't even in the same place. I think someone tried to swindle you." The dark tone in which this last sentence was delivered suggested that any such swindler was lucky they were on the other side of the world right now.

"No, dear. It's an aesthetic. Or maybe a philosophy? _Wabi sabi_. It's about appreciating the beauty in imperfection. Hence repairing a bowl to make it functional and lovely again without disguising its brokenness."

Crowley regarded the earthware bowl with the gold threads marking where it had been pieced back together more carefully. "Huh. An aesthetic, eh? I can respect that."

As they drank their tea and talked, Aziraphale could see the demon's melancholy thawing. His teasing, sarcastic humor returned, and by the time they had finished the tea and the sweets2, Crowley was leaning his chin on his hand and smiling at the angel's stories in his old familiar manner. There was still some tension there, though - in his shoulders, in the way that he sat.

"You know," the angel remarked, in what he hoped was a casual tone, "while I was traveling I was also was able to observe and sample some interesting new massage techniques."

The demon raised an eyebrow at him. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you know me well, dear boy." Aziraphale had been enthusiastic about this art since its invention, and was almost as happy to discover new variants as he was to try new foods.

Crowley shrugged. "Can't say I've ever seen the point."

"Relaxation, my dear. Realigning the muscles and joints. It is really a form of healing, if you think about it. A laying on of hands, if you will, that requires no magic to perform."

The corner of the demon's mouth quirked upwards. "Ah. So totally in line with your angelic duties and _not_ an entirely hedonistic habit then?"

Aziraphale opened his palm. "Give me your hand."

Crowley eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

"For a brief demonstration."

The demon looked dubious, but stuck out his right hand. Aziraphale looped his little fingers in the slots beside Crowley's thumb and pinkie fingers and flipped the demon's hand wrist up, his own fingers fanning out behind to provide support.

"Ng...what is this?"

"Just trust me, my dear." Aziraphale's thumbs stroked firmly down the center of the wrist, and then down into the middle of the hand, working all the little bones and tendons around. The angel turned Crowley's hand palm down, and pinched the webbing between thumb and forefinger, squeezing and sliding outward. Then he returned his thumbs to the back of the wrist, rubbing outward to the nub-like bones that were so prominent at the base of the demon's long hands, and down onto the back of the hand. Aziraphale caught each elegant finger in the crook of his pointer finger and thumb and pulled gently, stretching the spaces between the phalanges as he slid down toward the nail.

Through it all, Crowley just watched from behind his dark glasses, looking slightly bemused but, indeed, trusting.

"You're doing very well. Now, just relax the joints in your arm and hand," Aziraphale instructed. He looped finger and thumb around the demon's wrist and moved them so his hand flopped around in a circle, then grasped his fingers and _wiggled_ , so that a wave traveled up from hand to shoulder.

~~~

"I remember the tea," Crowley remarked. "I don't remember you doing anything to my hand."

Aziraphale sighed. "I'm afraid I rather lost my nerve."

"Why would you... _Oh_." The demon grinned. "Oh, I think I see where this is going..."

"Just let me tell the story, will you, dear?"

~~~

"There. How does that feel?"

Crowley shook his arm and twiddled his long fingers. "Huh. That actually does feel a lot better, actually."

Aziraphale beamed. "You see? That sort of thing can be applied to the back, the shoulders...the whole body, really."

"Hmm. I dunno, Angel." The demon seemed to be considering it, but still looked doubtful.

"Well, it is certainly important to find someone who knows what they're doing. And that's a bit tricky around here in recent centuries." Aziraphale conceded. "But, if you like, I could do it."

Crowley's glasses slipped down his nose. "Sorry - what?"

"I've got a room round the back that would be perfect. We could set wards all over it so you could relax without worrying about any unwanted visitors." The angel smiled hopefully. "You've introduced me to so many nice things over the centuries, I would rather like to return the favor."

~~~

"Hmm. You're right, you know - never did try it," Crowley remarked. "Wasn't keen on letting strangers paw at me. Got enough of that at work."

"I thought it might be something like that." It couldn't be easy for a demon to let themselves be vulnerable.

"Would let you do it, though," Crowley added. He glanced up hopefully.

"Right now?"

"Sure. Might as well just demonstrate instead of trying to describe something I've never felt."

~~~

To Aziraphale's delight, Crowley agreed to his suggestion just two days later.

"Oh, my dear boy. You won't regret this," he said as he ushered the demon into the room he had prepared. The angel had traded in his earlier finery for a simple set of tunic and hose in pale linen that was easier to move in. "I've already got my wards in place, but if you care to add yours as well..."

Crowley did so, shielding them from any heavenly prying as well as demonic or human interference. Then he blinked, seeming only now to have really looked at the rest of the room.There was a sort of thick blanket or thin mattress on the floor, with a pillow at one end, and a smallish towl in the middle. Beeswax candles provided a flickering, honey-scented light. A wind-chime tinkled, even though there should clearly be no wind inside.

"Wow. OK. So, er, what now?"

"Well, now I suppose you should take off whatever amount of clothing you're comfortable with. Then you would lay face down on the mat with your head on the pillow."

The demon cocked his head. "Sorry. Can you back up to the bit about me taking off an unspecified amount of clothes?"

Aziraphale's hands fluttered. "I know that sounded odd. I don't want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. Some techniques work better with bare skin. At the extreme, the recipient is nude, but can use a towel like that one draped over the hips for modesty. If you only wanted to take off your doublet, most of the newer techniques I just learned would still work fine. But oil is quite hard to get out of linen or silk..."

"Oil?"

"It's very good for the skin. But, as I say, if you'd prefer..."

Crowley sighed elaborately, and threw himself down. By the time he hit the mat, his entire somber black outfit had relocated itself to the corner of the room and the little towel was doing its best to disguise the fact that there was now a very naked demon in Aziraphale's back room.

"Fine. Might as well get the full experience, right?" Crowley muttered into the pillow.

Aziraphale felt his cheeks flush. Which they probably shouldn't. He was going to be perfectly professional about this. "As you wish, my dear. But you should probably take off those glasses as well. They're going to get squashed into your face," he remarked, as he knelt down beside the mat.

"OK. Whatever." The glasses blinked over to the pile as well.

Aziraphale placed his hands on the demon's lower back right where the hips began and pushed gently but repeatedly, creating a side-to-side rocking motion.

Crowley coughed. "Um, Angel. What..."

"This is called _kembiki_ ," he explained, shifting one hand up toward the demon's shoulders, still pushing back and forth. "It is to wake up the flow of energy. Then I can use my body weight to create pressure and a stretch. Like so..." Aziraphale moved his lower hand to Crowley's left hip and the other to his shoulder blade, then leaned his weight across, pushing both down and away from one another. The demon groaned softly.

"Is that all right, my dear?"

"Mmmhmm. Bit weird. But feels good."

Aziraphale smiled. He _had_ hoped he remembered his lessons properly. "Oh, excellent. Do tell me if anything hurts or doesn't feel quite right."

He continued to lean into his right hand, as he moved it gradually down Crowley's right side. Then he shifted his position slightly, leaning his right hand on the nearer hip, as he used the other to jiggle the demon's right leg back and forth. When his left hand reached the ankle he picked it up and moved it in a circle several times before pressing the heel all the way back toward the right buttock, creating a quad stretch. Finally, he released the foot and took hold of Crowley's right hand, leaning backwards to give a stretch to the neck and arm. Then he circled around, and did the same on Crowley's left.

When he was done, Aziraphale repositioned himself to kneel near the demon's head, and miracled up a palmful of almond oil. "They used to use olive oil for this in ancient Greece," the angel noted, as Crowley gasped slightly at the touch of the liquid on his shoulders, "But I find I like almond oil better."

The demon muttered something into the pillow that sounded vaguely like: "Right. Of course you like the one that makes me smell like a dessert."

Aziraphale rubbed his thumbs into the back of Crowley's neck and shoulders, seeking out the knots. Then he slid the heels of both hands slowly down the demon's back, once in the middle, once on the sides, stretching out the connective tissue and drawing out a deep sigh. He had to be careful; Crowley was so lean it would be quite easy to end up pressing uncomfortably on bone. He paused at the end, leaning his weight into his palms to stretch the lower back, kneading around the top of the hips, and finally sliding back up to do the same around the shoulderblades. "Still all right, dear?"

"Nrrng. Yep. Good."

That response came out as a bit of a groan, but not an unhappy-sounding one, so Aziraphale kept going, moving to the left again to slide his fingers from the demon's right side to his spine, up and down the length of the back, and then leaning with right elbow to left hip, pressing it down. Then the returned to Crowley's left shoulder, kneading the muscles with his thumbs all the way down to the fingers. Then once again he switched sides and repeated the motions.

"You know," the angel said quietly. "If you like, you could even let out your wings. Not that I've ever had lessons on that, obviously. But I have some ideas."

Crowley's only response was a muffled groan, and a WHUMP as his dark wings unfolded themselves into the earthly plane. They filled up a good bit of the room - Aziraphale had had to quickly miracle a few candles out of the way. Their wings weren't exactly physical - not in quite the same way their human-ish corporations were. But they did have muscle analogs, and the angel's fingers slipped between the short marginal feathers to knead the fleshy part down to the first joint and up toward the "wrist" where the wing bent.

The demon made a noise that was almost a whimper.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"Nope. Just...you know. Bit sensitive."

"Ah, of course. Mine too. All done, though. I'll just straighten the feathers out."

Aziraphale did that just as he would in a normal grooming session - though what was normal when one of you was a demon? - gently pulling out any loose feathers and straighting and smoothing the rest until they gleamed like obsidian.

~~~

"Mmmph. OK, all that really does feel bloody fantastic," real-world Crowley mumbled. He sounded slightly sleepy, and the tips of his wings drooped off either side of the king-sized bed. "Definitely a convert. And _that's_ not something you'll catch me saying often." One golden eye blinked open. "I am curious, though. You did say there were two ways this could end."

Aziraphale blushed. "Yes, well. Which would you like first?"

The demon considered this. "Hmm. How about you finish acting out the non-smutty version first. And then you can tell me the other one, and we can either have a good laugh at it...or figure out if there are bits we want to try."

"As you wish, my dear."

~~~

"Right, then. You can fold in your wings and turn over now."

Aziraphale turned away slightly to give Crowley some privacy as he winched in his wings and rolled over, readjusting the strategically-placed towel.

"OK." The demon's voice was drowsy. "What now?"

"Well, I could do a bit more work on your shoulders, neck, and scalp. Or I could rub your feet. Or both. Whichever you prefer."

"Hmm. Neck and scalp, please."

Aziraphale was pleased. Not that he had anything against Crowley's feet, but he had secretly been longing to sink his fingers into those copper locks since the first time he saw them. They were as soft as he had imagined, and the demon seemed to really like the sensation of finger pads working against his scalp; there was something almost cat-like about the way he leaned into the touch and hissed gently.

Crowley looked so unutterably lovely like this - his usually tightly-wound frame and the sharp lines of his face all relaxed and trusting. And the soft little sounds he made...the sighs, hisses, groans, and purrs. But nothing lasts forever, let alone such a moment between adversaries. So Aziraphale stored up all that in his memory, and trailed his fingers one last time down Crowley's arm, giving his hand a small squeeze at the end.

"There. All done." Oh dear. He hoped that didn't sound like he was tearing up, although he almost was. "You can lay there as long as you like. I'll just be outside making us some tea."

As he turned for the door, he heard a soft voice murmur: "Thanks, Angel. Needed that." Aziraphale sighed. _Me too, dear. Me too._

~~~

"Mmm. That was nice, but a little sad." Crowley's head lay in the angel's lap.

"Yes. But, of course, that was then. Now I can keep doing _this_ as long as I like." _This_ being the scalp massage.

"Maybe I ought to teach _you_ something relaxing. How do you feel about yoga?"

Aziraphale smiled. "That could be interesting. As long as it isn't the routine you made up for that class you taught in the early 2000s."

Crowley chuckled. "Oh, the 'make middle-class white ladies feel inadequate' sequence where I add on extra vertebrae half-way through? Wouldn't do that to you, Angel. That was pretty hilarious, though. Anyway...what was the other ending?"

~~~

"Right, then. You can fold in your wings and turn over now."

"I can't," Crowley's voice said flatly. He sounded even more muffled than he had earlier.

Aziraphale glanced back at him. "Why not?"

The demon _had_ retracted his wings, but wasn't moving otherwise. Then he noticed the flush on the back of Crowley's neck, and...was he biting the pillow? "Oh. Do you have..."

" _Yes_." Crowley smashed his face into the pillow with a mortified groan.

"My dear..."

" _I'm sorry._ I know that isn't how this is supposed to go. But have you ever had _you_ jiggling your hips about and touching your wings?" The demon still couldn't look at him. "Just, just let me lie here for a bit. It'll go away."

The angel's eyes swept over his adversaries' lean, elegant form, his back glistening with oil, his hips twitching slightly under the small towel that was all that guarded his modesty. He was so beautiful.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "You...you could, er, take care of it. If you want. I don't mind."

The demon turned his head slightly. One golden eye stared at him. "What?"

"Well, the whole aim of this exercise was to help you relax. And I understand that... _that_ can be quite relaxing and pleasant."

"Umm. Yeah?"

"I could step out and give you some privacy. Or..." Aziraphale paused, twiddling his fingers.

"Or?" Crowley prompted, with a kind of fascinated horror.

"Well, I could keep going with the massage. You do still have quite a few more kinks to work out."

The demon made a choking noise. "A few...Angel, I swear to Satan you are going to discorporate me one day."

"It was just an idea. You're right. I should just step outside for a bit, and..."

"No, no. I didn't say..." Crowley started to sit up, then flopped back down abruptly as he remembered. "Aargh. Look, if you actually _want_ to stay here and keep touching me while I _take care of it_ , I am sure as hell not gonna stop you. I just need you to be sure, because it would be a bit awkward if you were embarrassed or disgusted every time you looked at me for the next hundred years."

Aziraphale felt a lump form in his throat. "Oh, my dear. You could never be disgusting to me."

"Nrrgh." The demon coughed. "Right. OK, then. So, um. Got any more of that oil?"

Aziraphale knelt down again on Crowley's side as the demon slipped a greased hand underneath himself. Though Crowley's back was tipped towards him, he could tell when those long fingers wrapped around by the faint moan that escaped his slightly arched throat.

"Er, what should I..."

"Fuck, I don't know, Angel! This was _your_ idea." Crowley winced. "Sorry. Just...Do whatever seems good to you."

"My dear, really, if this is an imposition..."

"Angel, if you don't shut up and put your hands on me right now, I think I might lose my mind," the demon growled.

So Aziraphale did, laying his hands on the demon's shoulders, and rubbing his thumbs along the sides of his neck.

Crowley sighed and relaxed, beginning to stroke himself properly. "Oh, that's good, Angel. That's really good."

The demon's hips were moving, thrusting into his hand in a leisurely manner. The little towel, giving up the fight, had begun to slip, revealing his lean arse as it clenched and flexed.

After moment's hesitation, Aziraphale reached his right hand down to knead those muscles as well, keeping the heel of his left hand on Crowley's left shoulder, stretching all the muscles and vertebrae in between.

Crowley's hips gave a spasmodic twitch, and he groaned. "Ah, fuck! Just like that, Angel - please don't stop."

Aziraphale smiled to himself, and continued as requested, only pausing to switch hands and sides. It was exhilarating, seeing Crowley so relaxed and yet so desperate, trusting himself so deeply to the hands of his supposed adversary. Not that Aziraphale would ever have done anything to harm this lovely creature, any more than Crowley would ever think to harm him.

Crowley was breathing faster now, as Aziraphale moved his hands to knead at his shoulder blades. The demon gave a cry, and his wings reappeared, right in the angel's hands. "Angel, I need...I'm close...please," he mumbled incoherently.

Aziraphale sank his hands once more into the inky feathers, kneading at the base of those magnificent wings while he hooked a foot around the demon's calves and leaned a knee into his lower back. Crowley arched and shouted something that might have been the angel's name, his hips giving a few hard thrusts before he collapsed into a boneless, panting puddle of black feathers and long pale limbs.

Aziraphale collapsed with him, arms folding around the trembling demon, legs still entangled, chest pressing against his long bare back. _Oh, I probably shouldn't_ , the angel thought vaguely. But it wasn't entirely clear what the rules were anymore, and Crowley wasn't protesting the closeness.

Though he did eventually clear his throat. "I think I made a mess of your mat."

"Quite all right, dear. That's what miracles are for. Er. Well, _demonic_ ones, I presume."

"Ah. Right. Um, if you'd just..."

"Yes, sorry." Aziraphale rolled off. Crowley leaned up on one elbow and, with a wave of his hand removed any stickiness or hint of a stain3 and regained his shirt and hose. And his dark glasses, which was slightly disappointing.

The demon coughed. "Well, then. Thanks, Angel. I do feel a lot better."

"Oh, I am glad." _Any time_ , he did not say.

"Er. I suppose... Probably shouldn't make a thing of this, should we?"

"No, you're probably right," Aziraphale agreed. "Although..."

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Although?"

"Although, as per The Agreement, do let me know if you ever need me to lend a hand. Or two."

~~~

Present-day Crowley laughed. "That's more like it! That's the pleasure-loving, rule-bending bastard that I love." His golden eyes sparkled. "Though if you're going to go falling on me, I'd much prefer you did it like _this_."

He rolled Aziraphale into his arms and kissed him, pulling him close. Crowley gave a pleased laugh against the angel's lips as his glow flared like a struck match. An observer with the eyes to see it might have noticed that the demon's hands didn't so much stroke _over_ the angel's back as slightly _through_ it. Aziraphale was doing something similar. Indeed, struck with inspiration, he reached just a bit further and touched feathers that were invisible on this plane.  
"Oh, _stars_. Angel!" Crowley groaned. Then he grinned mischievously. Two could play at that game, and Aziraphale gave a cry as long clever fingers suddenly carded through his immaterial downy wings.

"So," Crowley said speculatively, some time later. "Do you suppose that was _you_ tempting _me_ to sloth, or was it the other way around?"

"Oh, who really cares, darling," Aziraphale said, cuddling up closer under the demon's long arm. "It's Saturday - the day of rest. And it's not like anyone is keeping score."

"Mmm." Crowley smiled broadly. "No. That's true, isn't it?"

Not that there weren't still things to do. But they could wait a little longer.

_____________________________

1\. Well, obviously it would do more harm than good - that would be the point. What Aziraphale _meant_ was that it would do more harm than good _to Crowley_. He didn't _like_ doing anything properly evil, and Aziraphale had noted that his pranks (or "diffuse temptations" as the demon liked to call them) tended to come back to bite him five times out of ten. Back

2\. Marzipan - the closest local equivalent Aziraphale could find to the sweets that normally went with green tea. The angel ate most of them. Back

3\. Though Aziraphale would always know it had been there. Back

**Author's Note:**

> The last story in 'The Decameron' is that of the patient Griselda, a poor girl who marries a lord. He is the world's shittiest husband for the middle 12 years of their marriage, deciding to test her loyalty with everything from insults to pretending to have their kids murdered. She remains constant, and is eventually restored to her position and family. The storyteller concludes:  
>  _What more needs to be said, except that celestial spirits sometimes descend even into the houses of the poor, whilst there are those in royal houses who would be better employed as swineherds than as the rulers of men....[but] perhaps it would have served him right if he had chanced upon a wife, who, being driven from the house in her shift, had found some other man to shake her skin-coat for her_  
>  While Aziraphale was never pointlessly cruel to his own faithful companion, he's certainly aware by this point that he's caused Crowley a lot of pain over the centuries. Also, in 'The light that is coming in the morning', I had Crowley introduce Aziraphale to Boccaccio to cheer him up. So it seemed the right night-time reading to get Aziraphale thinking about making amends, and what he might have done to bring Crowley more happiness.
> 
> If you want the backstory on how they moved in together, why they were without miracles for four months, and what signs of divine favor Aziraphale got, check out 'A price to pay'. 
> 
> I didn't try to pin down the time-period of the flashback/fantasy too precisely, but Aziraphale probably last saw Crowley sometime in the 1530s, [ wearing something like this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1500%E2%80%931550_in_Western_European_fashion#/media/File:Tizian_081.jpg) (but in his usual black-and-red color scheme), whereas at the time of the story he looks [more like this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1500%E2%80%931550_in_Western_European_fashion#/media/File:Agnolo_Bronzino_-_Portrait_of_a_Young_Man.jpg) (but with fewer embellishments on the doublet). As for Aziraphale, I spotted [ this painting](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1550%E2%80%931600_in_Western_European_fashion#/media/File:Moroni_Prospero_Alessandri_1560.jpg) and thought: "Oh, I bet he could pull that off in lighter colors". When I found out the puffy hose were called "pansied slops" (because they are made with panes of cloth, apparently) I couldn't resist.
> 
> I picture Aziraphale's tea bowls looking [something like this ](https://mymodernmet.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/wabi-sabi-japanese-ceramics-1.jpg). That specific technique of repairing with gold lacquer is called _kintsugi_ ; the _wabi sabi_ aesthetic itself is more far-reaching. Philosophically speaking, appreciating _wabi sabi_ is said to encourage the humility and recognition of one's own imperfections needed to proceed toward enlightenment. Also...yeah, it's a metaphor. Crowley has trouble believing Aziraphale actually likes some of the things that mark him as Fallen, like his eyes or his black feathers or that he sometimes can't help hissing. But that's _wabi sabi_ right there.
> 
> The massage techniques that Aziraphale uses are heavily based on Shiatsu with other stuff thrown in to simulate techniques he might have picked up in the preceding two millennia or so. Not that ending number 2 (or 3, probably) would be approved by any reputable school of massage therapy.
> 
> I do kinda want to see Crowley teach a yoga class now. I feel like he would have to be deliberately concentrating on trying to act human if he didn't want everyone in the class to be having [one of these Rebecca Bunch personal insecurities musical numbers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wFUk79fBOiQ) going in their head.


End file.
